I’m 79 now, and still, that old pattern… the company I worked for, the sales routes, all those overnight trips to Omaha or Des Moines, sometimes three, four nights a week. It wasn't about the commission, not really. It was the blissful quiet of a Hampton Inn at 9 PM, knowing nobody was waiting back home with that expectant look, that unspoken plea for connection I just couldn’t… well, I guess the technical term would be intimacy avoidance, wouldn't it? A chronic deficit in emotional reciprocity, probably rooted in some very classic attachment issues from my own mother, who bless her heart thought a good spanking solved everything. I’d be in a cheap motel in Toledo, watching infomercials, and feel this profound… RELIEF, that I didn’t have to perform affection, didn't have to be vulnerable. Funny, isn't it? The cost of living in this city is insane, but the cost of *living* a real life… that's even higher, sometimes.